“Something surely is going on, and Hippy has gone to investigate,” muttered Grace. “That young man surely is improving.”
Without an instant’s hesitation, Grace ran out and down the tote path, proceeding cautiously as she neared the trail, her step giving off no sound that could be heard a few yards away.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE HARDEST BLOW OF ALL
REACHING the trail, Grace crept toward the point where the equipment wagon had been parked.
She now understood the meaning of the sound that she had heard from her tent. The wagon was being turned, and again she heard what she recognized now as the squeal of a wagon’s king-bolt, accompanied by a low, guttural grunt.
“Look out!” The command was low, but incisive.
A jar and a crash followed, then something went thundering down the mountainside.
“Some one has run the wagon off the trail into the canyon!” gasped Grace Harlowe.
Bang! A revolver shot caused Grace to duck. She had faintly seen the flash in the fog-cloud ahead of her, and the flash seemed to indicate that the weapon had been fired at her.